


“The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.”

by notjustmom



Series: “Quotation is a serviceable substitute for wit.” [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, John's a mess, M/M, Mycroft Tries to be a Good Big Brother, No Mary, Sherlock's a mess, angsty mess, happy ending because I can't not, post tsot, yes of coure they are idiots as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 15:30:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14621639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: A bit of canon divergence; the events of HLV never happen, as Sherlock nearly dies from an overdose a month after the wedding. Mostly angst, and yet I wrangled a happy-ish ending out of it.





	“The mystery of love is greater than the mystery of death.”

Mycroft's voice rumbled in his ear, "that's number seven, brother mine; you've only got a couple more lives left to squander, I'd start taking a bit more care from now on."

"Bugger off."

"What is it, Sherlock? What is it that makes you go in search of death? I'm just honestly curious - you are essentially of a logical mind, is there something you are chasing after?"

"Nothing."

"Fine, don't answer me -"

Sherlock sighed as he struggled to sit up. "You are misunderstanding me as usual, you asked me what I am seeking - there are times when I just want everything to stop, in here." He pointed a trembling finger to his temple and closed his eyes. "Don't you ever just want to feel nothing, know nothing, even if it's just for a moment?"

Mycroft looked into his brother's exhausted eyes, then shook his head. "No. I've never been that adventurous. Is that what it is - nothing? I guess I'd always hoped -"

Sherlock snorted then smirked not unkindly at his brother. "What, did you hope there was something after, after this? In my experience, death is just when the lights go out, and the machinery grinds to a halt. Perhaps it's different for everyone, but as far as I know, there are no angels or demons after we shuffle off this mortal coil, brother mine."

Mycroft nodded and slowly got up out of his chair, then walked over to the window and spent a long moment gathering his thoughts. Sherlock realised how long he must have waited for him to wake up by the wrinkles that ruined the normally sharp line of his trousers. "He's waiting - out in the hallway - wouldn't leave until he knew you were okay. I can send him in - or tell him -"

"Tell him -?"

"He chose to marry her, Sherlock. He must have some feeling for her, whether it is love, or simple gratitude. In your place -" He closed his mouth tightly, then began again. "I don't - I can't presume to advise you regarding how to proceed, Sherlock. I have no experience in this kind of negotiation, though I have played through the various scenarios - and what might follow, should you choose to take a certain, I don't know - position?"

"I love him." Sherlock's words tumbled gracelessly from his mouth startling both of them. "Not that I could or would ever tell him that, I'd rather face death a thousand times than speak those words to him - he doesn't share the sentiment, obviously, he can't possibly, as you said, he made his choice, I have no desire to delve into uncharted waters this late in the day. I wouldn't even know how to proceed -" 

"What do you want?" 

"Since when has that mattered? Tell him - tell him whatever you wish - I'm tired. Go away. Please." 

John lifted his head as he heard the unmistakable tap of Mycroft's umbrella, and Mycroft groaned inwardly to himself. Idiots. 

"May I sit with him?" 

"You do know -" 

John ruffled his hair and yawned. "Yeah. I do. Course - I - he -" 

"Stop. I have no wish to know more than I already do. Just tread carefully, Dr. Watson. For his sake. It seems he received the lion's share of humanity in our family. He has an infinite capacity for forgiveness, especially where you are concerned. He will never tell you, unless -" He looked down at his watch and sighed. "Just be gentle with his heart, Dr. Watson." He gave him a sharp nod and turned on his heel, then disappeared down the hall. 

John stood in the doorway and blinked at the still figure in the hospital bed. In all the time they had spent together, he had rarely seen him so vulnerable. His dark curls, though in disarray, framed his sharp features softly, and even in awful hospital lighting, he was still beautiful, somehow. John bit his lip, then mumbled,"I'm sorry." 

"John?" 

"Mind if I - I understand if you don't want to see me. But, I needed you to know -" 

"Thought you'd at least look different after your sex holiday, but you seem the same. Maybe it's just the lighting in here- it does strange things -" Sherlock tried in vain to keep the bitterness from his voice, and John approached the bed carefully, unsure of what to do next, though his feet seemed to know where he needed to be. 

"I left her at the airport - we left each other - she knew it was no good - I knew - the baby, isn't mine - we - you -" 

Sherlock blinked at him. 

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" 

Sherlock shook his head. 

"I shouldn't have gone through with it. But, I thought, you - no, it isn't your fault. It's mine. I knew - god, I've known so long, Sherlock, but you never said anything. When you died - hell - it was like I died with you, but I was still here, and you - and then when you came back. Strangest thing - all I wanted to do was throw you in a cab and take you home - but that damn smirk - god - I'm so sorry. I needed time - to think what to do, what to say to you -" 

"It's been a month, John." 

"I know. I went for a walk." 

Sherlock snorted. "A walk. You couldn't, I don't know, have sent me a text or something?" 

"I was afraid." 

"Of?" 

"You wouldn't want me back. I don't deserve - I - since the day we met, all I've ever wanted was to be with you." 

"You can't. John - you know me, you know who I am, what I am - I don't know how to do this. I tried to work, I did. But I couldn't do it anymore, not without you. It didn't seem to matter quite as much as it used to - and then I started to clean, and kept finding reminders of you everywhere. I - found Billy, and - well - you can see... I can't - what exactly do you want from me, John?" 

"Just a chance to - I've made such a mess of things, and I would understand if you never want to see me again -" 

"Tell me what you want, John. Please?" 

"I want to have a chance to love you, Sherlock, I want to take you home and just spend the rest of my life, our life, loving you." 

"Do you even know what that would mean, what that would look like?" Sherlock asked him quietly. 

"I don't know, honestly. All I know is that when I had time to think about everything, I finally understood the only part of my life that makes any kind of sense is you. And I don't mean the work, I mean, you. You. I want all of you -" 

"I'm a mess. You don't want - you don't know what you are getting yourself into, John. I'm not who I was before -" 

"You think I don't know? When I was gone, I had time to consider everything, and I realised what must have happened to you. At first, I was furious that you didn't tell me, and then I was angry that I hadn't seen on my own, and then I knew the only place I wanted to be was with you, and then I got a call from Greg - and I thought I was too late, too late to tell you." 

"Come here." 

John walked to the side of Sherlock's bed and waited. 

"Sit." Sherlock reached out his hand and John moved closer so he could take it in both his hands. "I can't promise you anything, John. You were my last thought as I passed out; you will always be my first and last love, but I don't even know what that means. I understand death, death is easy. Death isn't a mystery to me, but love? Love is hard, John. Too many variables, too many ways it can go wrong, I can't think my way through it, or control, damn. I wasn't going to -" John leaned over and kissed away the tear that was rolling down Sherlock's face. "John." 

"Sorry." He began to pull away, but Sherlock stopped him. 

"Don't. Will you get me out of here?" 

"Sherlock." 

"Please, just take me home, John. It's going to be rough for a while, you know that, don't you?" 

"Yeah. I do." 

"You said that like you meant it that time." 

"I do, Sherlock. I won't let you down." 

"I know, John. I know." 


End file.
